


Traditions

by anovelblogwrites



Series: oops i fell into the elriel trashcan [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anovelblogwrites/pseuds/anovelblogwrites
Summary: Azriel knew he was gaping. He’d intended to say something, but he couldn’t utter a single sound. Words weren’t enough. So he continued to stare in slack-jawed wonderment at Elain. She was not simply paying homage to an ancient tradition. She was offering him the promise of forever. Her words sunk in slowly, rooting themselves deep within his chest:I choose you.Or, Elain cooks some dinner.





	Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> guess who's back with more elriel fluff??? 
> 
> (it's me)
> 
> this is also on my [tumblr](https://a-novel-blog.tumblr.com/post/167816539252/traditions).

The best thing about coming home was the quiet. Often in the gentle grace of Elain’s presence, his shadows receded. But as soon as Azriel landed in their yard, he felt that something was different. It coursed through the dark tendrils surrounding him like lightning, an excitement that seemed to vibrate. Sharp curiosity propelled him along the path to the front door, where Elain was already waiting. She was bouncing on her toes with almost childlike mirth. 

As always, Azriel was delighted to see her, but he couldn’t help the narrowing of his eyes, “What’s going on?” 

Elain batted her lashes innocently, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Azriel raised a challenging eyebrow, and Elain’s eyes drifted to his shadows--the way they seemed to be creeping in on her. She sighed and shook her head, grumbling, “You’re almost as difficult to surprise as I am.” 

“Surprise?” He repeated dubiously, his brow wrinkling. Elain was right; it was his job to know everything. Whenever something managed to slip past him, Azriel didn’t take to it lightly. 

Elain didn’t say anything, but rather took his face in her hands and brushed her lips over crease in his forehead, before bringing them to meet his. Not quite satisfied, Azriel leaned in for another, but one of the hands on his cheeks slid up over his eyes. 

Reflexively, Azriel reeled back, but Elain managed to keep her fingers curled securely around his face. She grabbed his other hand and started pulling him inside. He shuffled along with her, careful not to pick up his feet, for fear of trodding on hers. 

She turned left, guiding him around a corner. The woven rug beneath his boots gave way to the slightly creaky wooden boards that made up the kitchen floor. After Elain eased Azriel into a dining chair, she lingered behind him, drawing out his anticipation for a brief eternity. She finally withdrew her hand, revealing a plate on the table in front of him. Steam roiled off the meat, potatoes, carrots and sprouts--all of which he recognized from their flourishing garden. Elain squeezed the hand she was still holding as she slid into the chair next to his. 

“I made you dinner,” she beamed. 

He appraised the plate, then the empty space in front of Elain. “Aren’t you going to eat something?” 

Elain’s cheeks turned a little bit pink when she shook her head. “I know we’re different,” she began softly. “The cauldron might not have chosen us for one another, but I’ve never cared much for that rusty old thing, anyway.” 

It wasn’t funny--the memory of Elain shivering and coughing up water--but her utter dismissal of the most powerful entity in the world drew a smile out of him. She looked at him with conviction. “ _I_ choose you for me. And I think that’s just as powerful. Maybe even a little bit more. ” 

Azriel knew he was gaping. He’d intended to say something, but he couldn’t utter a single sound. Words weren’t enough. So he continued to stare in slack-jawed wonderment at Elain. She was not simply paying homage to an ancient tradition. She was offering him the promise of forever. Her words sunk in slowly, rooting themselves deep within his chest: _I choose you_. 

Elain seemed to have misread his silence because she tittered nervously, “This is silly, isn’t it?” 

She tried to hide her face behind her hands, but Azriel was still holding onto one and he refused to let go. With his other hand, he picked up his fork and speared a piece of meat. The tightness in his throat was unexpected, and almost impossible to speak through. 

“I choose you, too.” 

When Elain smiled at Azriel, his shadows wrapped around him. Soft and warm like a caress, echoing that tender gleam in Elain’s eyes as she watched him stick his fork through potatoes and carrots and bite into them. 

He was hardly halfway done with his plate--he swore he’d nearly doubled his workouts since Elain moved in with him--when she stood up. The smell of cherry blossoms and rain washed over him when she leaned over his shoulder. 

Her lips brushed his ear as whispered in a honeyed voice, “If you enjoyed your dinner,” a single finger skimmed over the top of a wing, a tantalizing promise, “you’ll _love_ dessert.”


End file.
